


Of Something Stolen

by screwstyles



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: (I suppose), 2021 season, Fluff, Implied Relationships, M/M, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29003715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwstyles/pseuds/screwstyles
Summary: Checo just wants to peacefully adjust to life as a Red Bull driver, but it’s proving hard to do when Daniel is always there.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 14
Kudos: 152





	Of Something Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> ive done it !! a nice, freshly served non-explicit rating. also this fic is set in the future, so if the season pans out in a way that this story becomes completely unrealistic, apologies. 
> 
> in the words of a great philosopher of our time, enchanté.

When Checo joined Red Bull, no one had told him he would be the team’s third driver. Sure, on paper only two names were jotted down next to _Red Bull Racing_ , and officially only he and Max had the privilege of calling themselves drivers of the team, but in reality, he felt like he was third wheeling his own bloody team. He hadn’t clued onto it right from the start, everyone around him being more than cordial towards their new driver, but with each passing week the feeling of being a hind thought, a second-tier crew member settled in heavier and heavier. It wasn’t really even the team as a whole, which took him a while to realise – no, it was Max himself. 

A year ago, Checo wouldn’t have said he was particularly close to Lance, but looking back on it he feels a bit silly to not have noticed how much he had come to rely on him. In fact, he doesn’t think he would have even realised this if not for the fact that his new team mate was so unforthcoming towards him. 

Max isn’t rude, per se. He says hello whenever they see each other, and occasionally he makes jokes which make Checo laugh. In team meetings, he’ll grab a water bottle for Checo when fetching one for himself, and sometimes he’ll even ask how Carola, Checo Jr and Carlota are doing, which is more than Checo honestly thought Max knew about him or his family. So no, Max isn’t rude – he's just always busy and distracted with Red Bull’s third, unofficial driver. 

Because that’s what he’s come to think of Daniel as. Daniel is always _there_ , even when he’s not physically there, which is ironic considering it was his choice to leave the team. 

And yet his presence is strongly felt. 

It’s there when Checo’s being shown around the factory and he bumps into Max who is throwing paper airplanes at GP, his race engineer muttering that _Daniel is a bad influence, stop trying to mildly injure the only person who can stand to radio you for years on end_. It’s there when Max spends their whole first briefing of the year on his phone, not even trying to hide the fact he’s been taking increasingly silly selfies and who he is sending them to when Christian tells him off. It’s there when Max shows Checo to the toilets, and on the way they pass a chipped bit of the wall that Daniel had apparently driven into on a kart and blamed Max for. The text on the wall, ‘ _Max did it’_ , however old it is, mocks him on his way back, and he doesn’t know why it’s so suffocating, but he seems to be trying to fill shoes that have been empty for two years. 

He’s officially been signed to Red Bull for just over a month, yet already he feels like he is directly competing with someone who isn’t even there anymore. No wonder Pierre and Alex crumbled under the pressure, especially when the gap Daniel opened up by leaving was so fresh – Daniel has now changed teams not once but _twice_ , yet he’s Checo’s number one obstacle at the moment. 

It seems a bit ridiculous, to want Max’s attention so bad and get annoyed when he keeps mentioning Daniel in passing every chance he gets, but Checo can’t help it. Max is the golden boy, unabashedly Red Bull’s number one hope for a world champion, the one who gets everything he asks for and when he doesn’t, he is the one who takes what he wants. It’s only natural Max has piqued his interest. He is an enigma, even without the team treating him as such – he's a bit guarded, a bit untouchable, a bit hidden from plain sight under the disguise of _Max Verstappen, future title holder_ , and rarely does anyone get to see _Max, the person._ That’s what irks Checo the most; it’s not like team mates have a contractual obligation to be friends, hell, he would know about that as much as the next person, but a bit of warmth from Max wouldn’t be unwelcome. Instead, Max directs it at their competition, and makes Checo feel unwelcome in his own team’s garage. 

Granted, currently he might be looking at things from a biased point of view, having been taken out of the Bahrain race by Mazepin on the second lap and resigning himself to watching from his driver’s room, but the image the cameras are currently stuck on is making his stomach twist in an unpleasant way, tells him that should be him out there. Which is ridiculous, he knows, but watching as Max steers an equally champagne soaked Daniel to talk to Christian and Helmut in their post second and third place podium finish giddiness, respectively, he can’t help his own gloominess. He gets it – Daniel had a tough two years at Renault, and securing a podium in his first race with McLaren sets a good precedent for the season. Daniel is the kind of person the whole grid will be happy for, and had his own race lasted beyond three measly minutes, he would be right up there with the rest of the drivers congratulating him. As it is, he stews in his own misery and starts looking for his backpack to head out of the paddock, already changed out of his race suit. 

On his way out, he is caught up by a cheery Lance, who claps on his back with a bit too much force for Checo’s sour demeanour. 

“Fifth place, baby!” he shouts, accent making it sound like an obnoxious fratboy mating call. His smile is blinding like a toddler’s and his hair is sticking every which way – Checo feels a paternal wave of emotion swoop over him, leftover from their time together at Racing Point. 

“Great job, kid. You drove well today,” he says, because it’s true and because his own annoyance shouldn’t stop him from being nice to Lance, who is never anything but lovely to everyone around him. 

“Oh, no”, Lance drawls, struggling to keep up with Checo’s pace off the paddock grounds. Checo may be smaller, but he can swing his legs faster, which he takes full advantage of. A gangly Lance is no match for him. “Sorry. I forgot about your race,” he says, the corners of his lips turned down and looking like a kicked puppy. Checo knows it can be intentional – Lance has his ways of getting what he wants, but this time he looks sincerely sad. Guilt pulls at his gut. 

“No, don’t worry. It’s just one grand prix-,” he starts, except Max chooses that moment to come around a corner and cross their path. He’s sporting a wide smile, and he nods at Checo gleefully, which Checo returns with a polite smile, feeling a bit better. Maybe there is hope for them after all, he thinks, until from behind the very same corner emerges a hopping Daniel, who skips towards Max and, bracing himself on his shoulders, hoists himself into the air while yelling “Maxyyyy!” way too loudly. Checo sighs, and his expression must give something away, because Lance’s eyebrows knit together. 

“You’re angry at Daniel?” he asks, confused, looking back and forth between Checo and the quickly retreating backs of Max and Daniel, their giggles still carrying through the air. 

Checo shakes his head. As if anyone could ever be angry at Daniel. 

“Then what?” Lance insists, and at some point they must have stopped, because Lance crosses his arms and doesn’t look ridiculous doing so. 

“Just, Max,” Checo says, hoping Lance will understand what he means, but he just stares at him blankly. 

“I’m not exactly a fan of him, either, but you two seemed friendly?” Lance prods. 

Checo lifts his eyebrows and shrugs half-heartedly. “Friendly until Daniel is around, sure.” 

Lance stays silent and keeps staring at Checo as if that will make him continue talking. Unluckily for Checo, that’s exactly what that means when Lance juts out his bottom lip and looks exactly like Checo Jr when denied ice cream. 

“He just doesn’t seem to acknowledge me as a team mate. It’s Daniel this, Daniel that, like he never left the team, and I’m a bit annoyed that I feel like I’m unwanted here by the only other driver of the team,” he finally confesses. 

He expects Lance to be sympathetic, maybe offer a consoling word or two, but instead his put-upon frown slides off his face and turns into a grin until he bursts out into way too joyous laughter. Kids these days, honestly – can't decide on one emotion to feel. 

“Ah, so you don’t know yet,” he says, and squeezes his shoulder, already slowly walking back towards the garages. “You’ll figure it out!” he shouts, and spins around. _Figure what out_ , Checo wants to ask, but Lance just waves at him, picking up speed. So much for ex-team mate loyalty. 

That evening as he scrolls through Instagram, he sees Max has posted a photo of him and Daniel on his private jet, and he refuses to acknowledge the bitterness that stirs in him. 

*** 

In Imola they have some downtime between team briefings on Thursday, and instead of enjoying the sunshine like the rest of the crew, Checo opts to coop up in his driver’s room and facetime his family. With the time difference between Europe and Mexico and his busy schedule it’s sometimes hard to find a moment to speak to his mum and dad, so when Christian announces that they can all have two hours off until the next meeting and Checo does the maths that tell him its past 9am in Mexico, the decision is pretty much made for him. 

The mechanics and other team members quickly file out of the Energy Station, and by the time Checo makes it through to his driver’s room the whole space surrounding the garage is eerily empty and quiet. He’s used to the constant buzz and noisiness of the mechanics working, tyres screeching against the tarmac, people running around, but now you could hear a pin drop it’s so deserted. In fact, he doesn’t see a single person on his way, and he doesn’t blame them – it's rare that they get time to themselves on the road, even rarer for it to be somewhere with delicious pasta and creamy tiramisu and inviting warmth within reach, and he’s glad the team are able to make the most of out of it, if even for a little while. 

He settles onto the sofa and turns on the tv in the background to some special about the Silverstone circuit and mutes it, sliding his phone unlocked and checking his mum’s WhatsApp. She was last online some twenty minutes ago, so it looks like he’s in luck. 

She picks up nearly immediately, a tea in one hand while she stands in the kitchen, and Checo can practically smell the spiciness of whatever he’s making. He might be in his thirties, but he still misses his mum and her cooking. 

Thirty minutes into their conversation he hears some muffled talking, and thinks that maybe he forgot to mute the telly, but when he looks up there is still a red line on top of the microphone sign, the speakers remaining silent. He turns back to the conversation, finally having figured out she’s making carnitas, thinking maybe he imagined it, but then there’s the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut from the adjacent driver’s room, and he figures that maybe Max wanted some alone time, too, in the middle of the chaos that is a race week. 

He’s just in the middle of telling his mum how Carlota is starting to say some words already, butchering the pronunciation but shining with pride whenever her parents understand what she means, when there is a commotion from the other side of the wall. It sounds like Max stumbled into the wall, and there’s some cursing, which makes Checo half-stand up, worried Max might have injured himself. He promptly sits down when there is the booming, unmistakable sound of laughter from no other than Daniel Ricciardo, some claps accompanying his audible joy. 

Checo rolls his eyes, and thankfully his mum doesn’t ask when he repeats the motion what must be ten times over the remainder of the call. He doesn’t know, nor wants to find out, what they’re doing on the other side of the wall, but he makes a mental note to ask the team if soundproofing his room is possible. He doesn’t think of himself as much of a diva as far as outrageous requests go, but he doesn’t think Max and Daniel trying to torpedo seven hundred tennis balls through the walls (because that’s what it sounds like, really) should be his problem. 

He bids his mum farewell, and when the clock tells him he still has another hour before he’s due for a meeting with his race engineer, he decides to go see if there is anything in the nearby shops that Carola and the kids would like. He kicks at Max’s door when he passes it, accompanied with a _keep it down_ that comes out ruder than he intended, and the noise at the other end of the wall stops nearly immediately. Huh. Should have done that earlier. 

Later that evening when he’s in the Red Bull canteen, Daniel approaches him. Checo has no idea how Daniel got into the team space or why no one is kicking him out, particularly with Max nowhere in sight, but at this point he’s given up questioning it. It’s Daniel, after all – stronger men than Christian have fallen for his charms. 

He slides into the seat across from Checo like he belongs there, like Checo wasn’t expecting anyone to join him, and folds his arms in front of him on the table determinedly. The smile he’s sporting is misleading. 

“So about earlier today-,” Daniel starts, but Checo cuts him off with a sigh before Daniel gets into a rhythm. 

“It’s fine, Daniel. You guys were just a bit loud, but it’s all good.” 

Inexplicably, Daniel blushes. Checo has never seen Daniel blush in their ten shared years of driving in Formula 1. Granted, they’ve not exactly been close, but they’ve had a good few laughs and embarrassing stories for Checo to know that Daniel Ricciardo does not blush. And yet. 

“We’ll be sure to be quieter next time,” he assures Checo, their eyes barely meeting before Daniel averts his gaze. “Just wanted to say sorry.” 

Checo nods. Daniel gets up. He can’t say the interaction doesn’t play on his mind until he goes to sleep. 

*** 

The thing is, Checo has no one he can talk to about this. Carola has plenty of other things on her daily agenda, like taking care of two children under five, so he doesn’t want to trouble her, his friends outside of racing wouldn’t understand the dynamics between team mates, and he doubts either Carlos or Fernando would do anything but look at him weirdly if he brought it up. Carlos, either way, knew Max before he knew Checo, so he doubts he would offer any sympathy, and Fernando would tell him that it doesn’t matter since it shouldn’t impact his performance on track. 

And it’s not like he can run to an already kicked Alex to ask him, _hey, when you were team mates with Max, did you ever get a sting in your gut when Max would buy the team doughnuts and got a special one for Daniel but not you_ without sounding like a total nutjob. He’s pretty sure Alex has more important things to do anyway, like finding out how exactly to sabotage Checo out of his seat, even if he looks way too nice for that. 

His ally comes to him out of the blue, even if he should have seen it coming. It’s not that Lando is in the exact same situation, he’s not the one trying to drive a car that hasn’t been pushed to its limits in two years under the heavy gaze of an executioner ready to let heads roll, but maybe he feels some of what Checo feels when he drags an exhausted looking Max into their garage thirty minutes before FP3 in Spain. 

“I have something that belongs to you,” he says to the team at large, and hands Max a can of Red Bull, which he downs within seconds. Checo is increasingly concerned for his wellbeing. He turns to Checo once he hands Max off to a very relieved GP, seemingly deeming him a suitable target for his conversation. 

“You know, next time Max wins a race, I want this team to publicly dedicate it to me. Peeling him apart from Daniel isn’t an easy task, and if he spends any more time with Zak and Andreas, the FIA might genuinely think he’s part of McLaren. I think I saw him wear our team gear yesterday,” Lando says exasperatedly, all in one breath. He sounds a bit like a mother cat fondly scolding her favourite kitten, which is a ridiculous comparison from multiple angles. 

“Better at McLaren than at Red Bull,” Checo grunts, but must say the right thing, before Lando’s face lights up and he giggles. 

“You wanna do Maxiel care days?” he asks, like Checo knows what the hell a maxiel is. “I’ll take Thursday and Friday, you do Saturday and Sunday. We can set up a code, too, for when they’re being too much. I swear I’ve felt like the outsider in my own team more times than I can count this week, and I was here first.” 

Checo wants to point out that Lando probably can’t count that high, anyway, but the last part of his sentence catches his attention. Maybe this child is a kindred spirit. 

“Not much team mate bonding going on there, huh?” he asks to test the waters, at which Lando snorts. 

“Do we count third wheeling them everywhere as bonding?” he asks, and while Checo isn’t familiar with the term _third wheeling_ in a platonic context, thought that was for couples only, he lets it slide. Who is he to tell Lando off for poor English. 

“Lando, where have you been all this season? I needed you back in Bahrain,” Checo asks, because holy shit someone understands. Someone gets it. Someone else feels as equally at odds when Max and Daniel behave like it’s still 2018. 

Lando smiles. “Probably trying to remind Daniel that his extra chips should be shared with me and not Max.” 

*** 

Checo is at a breaking point. He’s put up with a lot over the season, has tried his best to forge some sort of connection between him and Max, ignored when Max has completely dismissed him in favour of hanging out with a rival or made up a lame excuse for why they can’t travel somewhere together that Checo can see right through, but there’s only so much he can take. They’re out on a team meal in London, celebrating a double podium for Red Bull and a win for Max, having rented out the whole restaurant, and even Helmut is turning a blind eye to Checo taking a shot at the bar with Simon. 

The food is great, the drinks even better, and someone from the PR team has challenged a mechanic to see who can down more pints in five minutes, which marks the turn of things from somewhat coordinated to completely chaotic. Checo is having a good time, finally feeling like a part of the team, like he belongs here, when Max goes outside and returns a few seconds later with Daniel behind him to cheers and whistles from the whole team. 

His smile drops, and his cheery mood disappears immediately. He doesn’t have anything against Daniel, but having him dangled in front of his nose at every opportunity is getting old, like looking at a trophy he’ll never have, a reminder he’ll never be enough for Red Bull. He decides to have a chat with Max about it as soon as he can, explain how Daniel’s presence undermines his position as a Red Bull driver, how perhaps Max should learn to separate the past and the present, and he starts writing out his speech in his mind, readying himself. 

The opportunity comes a half hour later when Max and Daniel step out to catch some fresh air in the restaurant’s little courtyard, and while it’s not ideal that Daniel will be there for this as well, he doesn’t see any other way to do it. The jagerbomb in his system gives him any extra courage he might be missing. 

He follows after them, slips through the open door leading outside, and freezes at the sight in front of him. All anger and pent-up frustration leaves his body at once. 

Max has Daniel crowded up against the wall, one hand on his hip and one on his cheek, talking to him quietly. Checo can’t make up the words at first, but his hearing adjusts from the loudness of their party when Daniel responds. 

“You didn’t have to, honestly. I could have just gone back to Monaco and done something with Michael or kept myself busy otherwise. You deserve to celebrate with people who won’t bring you down.” 

Max shakes his head, and when he caresses Daniel’s cheekbone, Checo realises he’s never seen Max so soft and unguarded. 

“I deserve to celebrate with _you_ , Daniel. And I know what it’s like to be homesick and miss your family. It’s better you’re here with us than alone with your thoughts,” he says, voice level and calm. 

Checo doesn’t know who this Max is, whether this is some mask he’s wearing or whether he has never met the real Max that’s standing in front of him right now, but he can’t look away. At the same time, he feels like he’s witnessing something so private that he should just turn around and leave, but his feet stay rooted to the ground. 

Daniel nods, and a second later he closes the gap between them, kissing Max so quickly and tenderly Checo thinks he must have imagined it. This is definitely not meant to be seen by an outsider, which in this case he most _definitely_ is, and he doesn’t mind that one bit. He takes a quiet step back, hoping he doesn’t collide with anything while trying to give Max and Daniel their privacy, and successfully turns around just as Max exhales a _love you, baby_ into their next kiss. 

Checo can’t believe he hadn’t put the two and two together before, had spent months being jealous of a man that wasn’t there to steal Checo’s limelight at all but to be close to Max, and he feels so stupid. He shouldn’t be surprised, really, as all the signs were there from the start, and looking back on it he thinks both Lance and Lando must have known one way or another. He knows he’s not always in the loop with the younger drivers, but something as glaringly obvious as this he thinks he should have picked up on, and he can’t blame Max for trying to spend every moment he can with his boyfriend; he’d be doing the same thing if he could take Carola and the kids with him everywhere they go. 

In fact, as he makes his way back to where the rest of the Red Bull party are, he finds himself happy for Max – he’s always assumed his rough and cold exterior was because he didn’t have anyone, but now he realises that maybe it’s there because he wants to protect the someone he has. It’s a comforting thought, and by the time he’s made it to the table, the last of his resentment towards his teammate has vanished. 

*** 

In Hungary after the race, Max packs up lightning fast. Checo has previously seen some pretty impressive speed from Lance when the press is being that little bit too vicious with him and he wants to disappear away from everyone’s pitying or blaming eyes. This is different, though – Max is happier than a second-place finish would usually warrant, and he goes through his post-podium press duties in record time, Checo barely having time to even congratulate him for his podium. 

He turns a corner to the Energy Station, impatient to do his cool-down routine and shower the scorching heat off him, and is faced with a loud Daniel. 

“Hurry your sweet arse, Verstappen. The plane won’t wait for you,” he shouts at Max, who Checo can see through the open door is haphazardly shoving clothes into his backpack. He swears under his breath and without turning around responds in an unamused voice. 

“It’s literally my plane,” he says, and the loud sound of a zipper is heard from his driver’s room, but Daniel has already disappeared with a carefree smile at Checo. 

When Max spots him, he stops in his tracks, eyes wide and clearly caught off guard. 

“Hey. Good job on your race,” he says, and even if Checo isn’t sure sixth place warrants a congratulations, he thanks Max anyway. 

“Any plans for the summer break?” he asks, just to be polite, and sees Max check his watch at that. 

“Going to Hawaii for a couple weeks and then just chilling with family. Uh, I really gotta go, but say hi to Carola, alright?” he asks, and before waiting for a response, disappears. 

A month ago, Checo would be annoyed at Max’s behaviour, would have taken him checking his watch as boredom with their conversation, would have felt inadequate at so blatantly being the second favourite after Daniel, but he knows better now. He smiles to himself, and he feels okay. There are some things he doesn’t want to nor need to compete for, and when Christian is frustrated with Max missing the team briefing an hour later but praises Checo for his overtakes and the engineers around him clap at the replay Christian pulls up on the screen, he knows the team doesn’t think of him as a temporary solution to a two-year problem. 

The next evening, as he lies in bed next to Carola, Checo Jr and Carlota tucked in their beds and sleeping soundly, she asks why he’s smiling at his screen before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He shakes his head, likes a photo of a hiking Daniel tagged _Honolulu_ , and locks his screen. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! im screwstyles on tumblr


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